Meet Kymberli, a middle-school teacher from Georgia who kept this diary of her first pregnancy -- with twins!

Kymberli

Here is your mission, should you choose to accept it. For nine
or ten months you will serve as a gestational host for a growing
life form. You will be mentally incapacitated and will more than
likely lose all touch with reality. You may experience mild
schizophrenia and drastic and sudden mood changes. Your gastric
and digestive systems will shift between the polar opposites of
ravenous hunger and not even wanting to look at food. Your
stomach may rebel completely and return whatever food you manage
to bring yourself to eat in your constantly nauseous state. Your
waistline will expand at an alarming rate, and you may find
yourself "coordinationally challenged" as you adjust to your new
physique. Your primary responsibility from this day forth is to
parent this being stirring within you. This message will never
self-destruct; instead, it will replay over and over and over and
over again at various intervals for the remainder of your life.
You are pregnant -- good luck and Godspeed.

Hello again, fellow readers. How are all of you? I hope all of
you are feeling well, and if not, I hope you are feeling better
soon. Okay, level with me, ladies. How many of you read all of
those preachy pregnancy books and kept a mental running list of
all of the symptoms you just knew could never apply to
you? Examples: "You may experience euphoria, anxiety, elation,
and depression, often at the same time." (Uh, nope, not me.) "You
may find an intense aversion to some of your favorite foods."
(Never gonna happen, not to me.) I admit it; before I even got
pregnant, I was dumb enough to think that I wouldn't fall victim
to some of the most common pregnancy symptoms.

Emotional instability has been rather interesting. Just yesterday
I was stupidly bawling over a peanut butter commercial, and a
minute later I was about to blow a blood vessel from laughing so
hysterically at something that wasn't really all that funny.
Frank has been rather skilled at handling my split personality. I
was almost impressed, until one day I was clear-headed enough to
realize that he's been talking to me in the same tone of voice
you would use with a mental patient. "What's wrong, hmm? It will
be all right. Why don't you go lie down and I'll bring you a hot
cup of decaffeinated tea. How does that sound, hmm?" I was almost
taken aback, but much to my dumbfounded surprise, I let myself be
led to the bed, because after all, I was quite tired, and a cup
of tea did sound appealing.

The topic of gastric upheavals is worthy of volumes, but due to
graphic content, I'll attempt to keep this section to a minimum.
Morning sickness first hit me around six weeks, and now at
thirteen weeks, it's just aggravating enough to keep me streaking
top speed to the bathroom once or twice a week. At first it was
so bad that I was nauseous 24/7. The average number of times I
made a generous donation to the Tidy Bowl Man was two or three
times a day. Oddly enough, immediately after vomiting, only one
thought ran through my mind, playing like a broken record of
Neanderthal grunts -- "Must-eat-more-food."

I have also developed a nose like a K-9 unit drug dog. Odors
ranging from my husband's cologne to my nephew's dirty diapers
are enough to activate my gag reflex. My eighth grade students
never miss an opportunity to demonstrate their superior
intelligence and maturity. On a day when I was feeling
particularly queasy, I was munching on a granola bar in between
giving explanations on how to solve equations with polynomials.
One of my more comedic students raised his hand and primly said,
"You know, Mrs. Barney, you shouldn't eat in front of people
unless you have enough to share with the entire class." This
immediately prompted a chorus of chuckles and nods of agreement.
Now, any good teacher recognizes an opportunity to earn a few
more "cool points." So I turned to him and curtly said, "Lookie
here -- it's either watch me eat or watch me puke. You choose."
Then I smiled at him, batted my eyes, and waited for an answer.
"Uh, no, that's okay Mrs. B. Eat up." Cha-ching! Two more
points added to the "Cool Teacher Scale." I had used the word
"puke," a less teacherly and proper connotation of "vomit." This,
in turn, spurred a ten-minute tangent on variations of the word
"puke." I came up with the best ones, of course. Gastric encore,
blowing chunks, stomach spew, and tossing cookies are my personal
favorites.

I've resigned myself to the fact that I am going to be somewhat
of a spectacle within the next few months. I started wearing
maternity clothes about three weeks ago. Though I've only gained
two pounds, my stomach already protrudes past my pregnancy
enlarged boobs. Perfect strangers (who we all know are enthralled
with pregnant women) ask me how far along I am. When I reply that
I am just three months, they politely say "Oh." while thinking
"If she's that big at just three months she's gonna be a whale by
the end of it all." When I tell them that I am expecting twins,
all politeness is shoved aside and is replaced by thoughtless
candor -- "Oh my GOD!!! You're gonna be huge!!!" Gee thanks,
lady. Believe it or not, I am very proud of my baby belly. I
can't wait until I can see the squirming of my kids through my
shirt. These babies are my mission possible, even though
they have invaded my body and make me feel like a space cadet.
I'll do whatever I have to in order to keep my creatures safe,
even if it means being a bipolar, mood swingin', upchuckin',
super sniffin', Shamu lookin', raving lunatic for the next six
months. Wait a minute -- I could have those symptoms even
after the babies are born, couldn't I?